a new meaning to laugh out loud

I have a loud laugh. This can only be truly heard at it’s highest peak if… it’s real. It cannot be duplicated.

I lost this particular laugh, <my favorite, my happiest one> around the time William was diagnosed. I was busy, very busy. I was tired, very tired.

I was…sad.

I don’t hide from those first feelings post diagnosis… it was real and I am certainly not ashamed of those feelings.

It. Was. Real.

But, I had to move. I had to live so he could. I had to laugh again. Once our “new norm” took over, I had to go with it and soak it all up so that I could be proactive and later… educate others.

It takes time to enter the “new norm”… anyone telling you different is not a parent to a child with autism. I have two children. One has autism and one does not. It IS different. Some general thoughts, behavior, and parental mistakes are the same (like many friends with typical children love to tell me), but inside lies a difference even I cannot always process or comprehend. It’s not a pinpoint discussion… it’s just there, everyday.

My laugh didn’t come back in a flash… it took time. I longed for it. I begged for it. I gave many great and false performances.

But, I do know it can come back with a vengeance. I fight for this loud, sometimes annoying laugh. I need it. William needs it. The man sitting next to me in this picture needs it.

It came back… and it doesn’t hurt to have a ridiculously funny, always inappropriate, inside jokes and all of a husband either.

It feels good to laugh loudly again. If you haven’t found yours, go look for it.